


Like A Little Secret

by waitingtobelit



Series: with starry feet [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-23
Updated: 2013-04-23
Packaged: 2017-12-09 06:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/771073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingtobelit/pseuds/waitingtobelit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cosette sings, but only for herself. Jehan stumbles in to help improve her song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like A Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with Les Miserables. This was written for recreational purposes only.

Only two people in the world know of Cosette’s passion for music: her dear papa, and Eponine. She never mentioned it to Marius when they were dating. She still hasn’t told Jehan, either. Eponine only knows because she saw the guitar case when they were moving into their dorm room their first year of university. Eponine pleads with her constantly to play, but she always refuses. Yet Eponine remains true to her word in promising to reveal her secret to no one. Cosette now keeps her guitar well hidden in the back of her closet; she brings it out only when she is certain that she has the apartment she shares with Eponine to herself.

As Eponine currently is out with Bahorel, Feuilly, and Grantaire at the bars, and Jehan closing up at work, Cosette is at her ease in the solitude of the small apartment. She practically skips over to the closet and takes out her precious instrument, which she’s named for Emily Dickinson. Only Eponine is aware of this, though her papa is the one to have bought it for her 18th birthday.

She carries the case over to the cozy, lavender sofa dubbed “the ugliest, sorry excuse for a couch I’ve ever seen” by Eponine and flops into the soft cushions. Ugly, perhaps. But it still serves as the most comfortable piece of furniture in the apartment, and the most desirable audience for her performance. (Sometimes Cosette and Eponine both wind up sleeping on it in lieu of their own beds in the summer heat. Grantaire found them like this one and proceeded to fawn over them as “the most adorable twelve year olds ever” until Eponine nearly broke his right foot.)

She still glances around to check to see if anyone’s watching, though she knows she is home alone. Satisfied when she finds nothing but the various lamps and debris strewn throughout the living room for company, she begins to pluck gently at the strings. She continues this for a few moments, gradually adjusting to the feel of Emily in her hands before breaking out into song in earnest.

The voice lessons of her youth remain one of the earliest and greatest gifts her papa ever gave her. She sings with all the grace of the nickname bestowed upon her in the orphanage of her youth – the lark. She likes to cherish this ability, keep it close to her chest so that no one can think to use it against her. For once she sang in the orphanage. The other children laughed at her before tossing her in the dumpster behind the cafeteria.

Cosette is not one to dwell on the past, however. As she tells Jehan often, she believes in finding hope in everything, even out of nothing. Jehan always responds by kissing her deeply and calling her the “prettiest thing with the feathers” he ever saw.

 As she sings, she dismisses her terrible memories as easily as if they were nothing more than the motes of air caught momentarily in the afternoon sunlight. She finds solace in the way her fingers dance across the strings and the way her voice mirrors their movements to match the melody.

She begins with her favorite song of all time, “Hallelujah.” Everyone in her life knows this about Cosette. However, they have never heard her as she sings it. They never witness the way her eyes ache in time with her heart as she draws out “love is not a victory march.” They never observe the way her hands tremble as she thinks about the mother she might have known in the lines about cutting hair. They never see her as she cradles the guitar close to her chest as the song ends, nor the way she puts the instrument down to hug her knees afterwards.

Tonight, instead of dwelling on the beauty of the music, Cosette ponders the possibility of singing to Jehan. He is, to date, the longest and most secure relationship she’s ever known. And like Cosette, he too adores “Hallelujah.” Yet to reveal this part of her to him still feels too intimate, even more intimate than when they made love for the first time. For to sing for him would be to truly give her whole self to him. She sighs as she strums with no melody for a few moments.

She contemplates Jehan as she finishes but keeps her guitar in hand. A flash of the song she’d overheard earlier at Jehan’s work that day flickers through her thoughts and works its way into the unfurling smile upon her face. Her fingers begin their dance again and she relaxes back into the couch as the song pours forth from her mouth as easily as spilt lemonade.

She does not hear the turning of the doorknob, nor does she register the presence of another human being until the sofa sinks beneath the additional weight. She halts her guitar playing immediately, cursing internally before coming face to face with Jehan.

She quickly glimpses at the clock by the front door and finds that twenty minutes have passed since the closing of his work.

She forgot hat she had given him a spare key just last month.  

He looks at her in awe, full-lips parted in a gape and blue eyes shining as though she were a Raphaelite Madonna come to life. His short, red hair lacks its usual crown of flowers yet in the dimly lit living room he looks the part of a poet come wandering in from the English moors all the same. She finds her breath catching in her throat as he keeps that gentle gaze focused entirely on her.

“Oh, um. Hi.” She says, twirling a finger in her recently cropped hair as she rocks slightly next to him. She wants nothing more than to drop Emily and run, but she values both her guitar and her pride more than that. So she fidgets and gives in to the flush crawling its way up her neck to her face like vines of ivy.

“So you have the voice of a lark, as well.” Jehan almost whispers in his usual lilting manner. “I didn’t know you could sing.”

“It’s…well. It’s not something I go around bragging about.” She keeps her gaze on her hand resting on the guitar. The pallor of her fingers glistens in the poor lighting.

“Why not? You sing so beautifully.” Jehan curls up next to her, draping an arm around her shoulders as he leans his head against hers. He twirls a strand of her golden hair around one of his fingers. “It’s a shame to keep something so lovely locked away.”

“I was teased for it,” Cosette admits as she turns to meet his gaze. “The other children at the orphanage never let me alone because of it and I haven’t been able to perform for other people ever since.”

Jehan brings a hand under her chin to pull her forward into a gentle kiss. When they part, he does not pull away, only presses his forehead to hers.

“I promise not to tease you, with all the holy affection in my heart.” She smiles into the kiss, at the words he breathes against her lips. Jehan always knows how to inspire her.

“Will you sing for me?” He asks, rubbing the exposed skin of her shoulder as he nuzzles her cheek. “Pretty please?”

Cosette giggles, unable to contain herself. His presence beside her warms her like bath water fragrant with roses. As he continues to nuzzle her and begins to pepper her cheeks with little kisses, she wonders why she ever feared revealing herself completely to him, this raggedy poet who has nothing but a multitude of kind words and sweet kisses for her. Her heart soars in his presence.

She kisses him now, more intently and for a longer period of time. She pulls back slowly, inhaling his faltering breath and heaving eyes with a smile.

“I will sing for you, on one condition.” She leans in to whisper in his ear, lending her free hand to curl in the locks of his hair.

“And what condition is that, dear Lark?” He asks, looking all the more like a cherub with his flushed cheeks.

“That you sing for me later tonight.” She pulls on his ear with his teeth after she speaks, nibbling slightly. He gasps and she smiles.

“I…” He starts to speak but settles for nodding frantically instead. Her grin transforms into a smirk as she moves to more fully embrace Emily.

“Wonderful.” She nods as he strokes her cheek once before leaning back against the cushions. 

She inhales deeply and begins to play. He drinks her in as she sings. She sings until the guitar falls gently from her grasp, replaced by the weight of his hands and lyrical mouth. She pulls him to his feet as she rises, drawing him into her room with the quirk of her lips.

They sing out together, reckless as the pagan moon in the wilderness of her bed. 


End file.
